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Through that window pane,
as the rain rolls downwards
beady, loving streams,
in droves the innocents rave,
snarling eyes, with fear
in tow, balefully gazing
out that window pane,
when the waters' rush
outside muddy river banks,
spindly fingers caressing
frozen faces, cold breath
upon the window pane,
Death, that old
reprobate, hanging about the
trees strewn thick like haystacks,
he'll catch his death in the rain
dripping through the branches
like honey,
run away now, the view is grand
and there is safety in
numbers,
behind that window pane.